F 869 
.L2 T5 
Copy 1 



The White 
Lady of La JoUa 



Illustrated 



By ROSE HARTWICK THORPE 

Author of ''Curfew Must Not Ring Tonight'^ 

Price 35 Cents 




THE WHITE LADY OF LA JOLLA. 



The 
White Lady of La Jolla 




BY ROSK HART WICK THORPH 

Author of '' Curfew Must Not Ring Tonight' 

SAN DIEGO: 
Graudier U Coiii|iany, Printers 






LIBRARY of 00N2><£SS 
Twu Gooitta Kuctxvcu 

CoiMriiiiii diiry 

CUSS <^ XAC. Not 

COPY B. 



Copyrighted 1904 
By Rose Hartwick Thorpe 



CALIFORNIA 



The world pays tribute to thy magic charm, 

Gigantic offspring of the century, 
And lays its treasures in thy outstretched arm. 
In time of peace, in time of war's alarm, 

A Nation looks to thee. 

Thy strength is in thy freedom. Free from creed 

That binds the powers and blinds the soul of man, 
Reaching kind hands to human hearts that bleed. 
Quick to perceive and meet another's need ; 
To execute and plan. 

Thine are the wilds no man hath ever trod ; 

Thine are the vales of plenty ; thine the sea. 
Standing erect beneath the chastening rod, 
And reaching upward through the mists to God, 

The world hath need of thee. 

Sept., 1898. 



SAN DIBGO 



Low swaying pepper boughs ; blooms of magnolia 
Summer and sunshine and roses galore ; 

Song of the mocking bird, 

Morning and evening heard ; 
Murmurous waves breaking white on the shore. 

Fogs marching up from the breast of the ocean : 
Languorous moons sailing into the west ; 

Fruitage of tree and vine, 

All the year summertime ; 
Harbor of safety and haven of rest. 



THE WHITE LADY OF 
LA JOLLA 



The faithful Httle motor puffs impatiently, and 
throbs in labored breathing's preparatory to carrying' 
its burden of expectant humanity on one of its tri- 
daily trips from San Diego to the famous sea-side 
resort, La Jolla. There are picnic parties out from 
the city for a day on the beach. There are tourists 
from beyond the Rockies, and from the Old World. 
Some of these are of such decided individuality 
that they present unmistakable characteristics of 
state and nationality. The intellectual Bostonian, 
severely precise in every detail of dress aiid speech, 
perceptibly shocked at the western idioms, southern 
vernacularism, and wanton disregard of correct 
English that pulsate the air on all sides of her; the 
two ruddy Englishmen lounging in indolent com- 
fort apparently unconscious of the fact that a deli- 
cate woman, with the fatal hectic flush on her cheeks, 
is standing in the aisle near them, having failed to 
secure a seat in the crowded coach ; the -family from 
Michigan, noisy boys and laughing girls, enjoying 
their outing with rollicking spontaneity ; the wo- 
man from Colorado, dominative and self-assertive, 
the majesty of whose presence submerges and over- 
whelms the timid Hoosier school marm who has 
offered the royal lady a seat beside her ; the sweet- 
faced mother and elderly gentleman from "the blue 
grass country ;" the loud voiced Texan ; the eastern 



10 THE WHITE LADY. 

capitalist ; the Kansas farmer ; the languid-eyed 
Mexican; the tawny Scotchman. It is, indeed, a 
miscellaneous company representing many of the 
states, and all conditions of life. It is, in fact, Cali- 
fornia in miniature, for California is peopled, not 
only with the overflow of the states, but with that of 
the whole world. The quick-witted, progressive 
Yankee is a product of mixed races, and the condi- 
tions from which he sprung are today preparing a 
special American people in this far west land. 

The coaches are soon filled with happy humanity, 
the mingling of whose voices make joyous undula- 
tions of sound that warm the heart of the passer and 
call a smile to his lips. At the last moment it is 
found that an extra coach is needed, and the impor- 
tant little motor with a perfunctory puff or two, 
pulls itself together with sudden determination and 
sets about supplying the deficiency. Presently ev- 
eryone, including the little woman with the hectic 
cheeks, is comfortably seated, and the motor pulls 
its burden of enthusiastic humanity out of the sta- 
tion, while the sight-seers prepare to discharge the 
duty for which they have traveled thousands of 
miles. 

To the west lie the placid waters of the San Diego 
bay, Uncle Sam's southmost harbor on the western 
coast. Its azure surface is dotted with yachts, im- 
mense vessels of commerce, a warship in the dis- 
tance, and is fringed, at its nearer edge, with row- 
boats. Beyond this blue expanse lies white-walled 
Coronado, like a glimpse of the celestial city in the 
soft-toned haze. The rugged sides of Point Loma 
show darkly against the deeps of the southern sky, 
as he bends his massive arm to protect the peaceful 
harbor in its graceful curve, with Roseville and La 
Playa clinging to his base like barnacles on the hull 
of a ship. 

Three miles along the shores of the bay and origi- 
nal San Diego is reached. A few crumbling adobe 



THE WHITE LADY. 



II 



walls where homes once stood, a few time-stained 
and weather-beaten wooden buildings erected in the 
days of the Mission Fathers (the timbers of one of 
these having been brought around Cape Horn in 
that early day before the advent of sawmill or plan- 
ing mill * ) , a neglected plaza, a general appearance 
of indolent Mexican life, a page torn out of the past, 
rich with historical reminiscences, and this is old San 
Diego as it now appears. 

Among other interesting features of this relic of 
by-gone days, appropriately called Old Town, is the 
house where Ramona, the heroine of Helen Hunt 




RAMONA S MARRIAGE PEACE. 

Jackson's California romance, was married to her 
Indian lover. An opportunity is given the tourist 
to visit the place and assist Father Time in his de- 
struction of the ancient ruins by chipping off pieces 
of the walls as souvenirs with which the appreciative 
visitor returns to his car, and the faithful little mo- 
tor continues its journey northward, over the San 
Diego river, bottom up during the summer and au- 
tumn months, but right side up again as soon as the 
winter rains have thoroughly soaked the ground. 
Sometimes it is a roaring torrent ; oftener a gentle 
stream, and always for a part of the year, a dry 
river bed. 



*Recently removed. 



12 THE WHITE LADY. 



At this point a glimpse may be obtained of the an- 
cient pahns, protected from vandal hands by a high 
])icket fence. Your attention is drawn to these 
palms and the information is vouchsafed that the 
trees were planted by the Mission Fathers one hun- 
dred and twenty-five years ago. A sour-visaged in- 
dividual, with malicious intent, adds the informa- 
tion that in all probability they are of the feminine 
gender, because they have added nothing to their 
age since '87. 

Beyond the river and to the eastward lie the roll- 
ing mesas, velvety green, or sun-brown according 
to the season, and snuggled against them is Morena, 
a dot of a town avalanched upon the map amid 
boom convulsions, and resting just where the tidal 
wave left it. One of nature's beauty spots is Mo- 
rena, and it is small wonder that pulses beat high 
with premature hopes of its greatness. Hopes 
which are, however, only in abe\'ance, for some soon 
day beautiful homes and tropical gardens will arise 
above this burial place of great expectations. 

To the westward lies 
Fair Mission bay. 
Now blue, now gray. 
Now flushed by sunset's after glow. 

Pale rose hues take the tint of fawn, 
At dawn of dusk and drsk of dawn. 

God's placid mirror, Heaven crowned, 
Framed in the brnwn hills circling 'ri)und. 

Mission bay, in its present state, is too shallow 
for commerce, but the row boats and sail boats that 
flit across its surface, or drift idly with its tide ; the 
song and laughter that mingles with the sound of 
dipping oars, proclaim its mission of pleasure. 

Pacific PJeach, still farther on is an ideal settle- 
ment of lemon orchards and beautiful homes. Here 
enterprise and culture join hands for the material 
and social welfare of its inhabitants. It is a well 



THE WHITE LADY. 



15 



known fact that no place on the coast is so favorable 
for the student of concholog^y, and that its ocean 
beach is rich in rare deposits of algae. Eye never 
contemplated a more beautiful picture than that 
which repays a drive, or a climb to the heights 
northward of the long sweep of southern exposure 
that dips with a gentle declivity to the bay. To the 
imaginative there is something awe inspiring in the 




HOTEL BALBOA, PACIFIC BEACH. 

view. Forty, fifty, sixty miles the eye travels with 
the rapidity of thought, drinking in the marvelous 
beauty of sun-brown mesas, city, towns, ship-decked 
harbor, ocean expanse, and mountains that rise in 
silent majesty. No pen can paint the picture. It 
must be seen to be appreciated. 

Passing through Pacific Beach you soon reach 
Ocean Front. The beach at this point is one of the 



i6 



THE WHITE LADY. 



finest natural boulevards on the western coast, 
was here 



It 



A thousand years old ocean beat 

His giant strength against the shore 
And all the rugged, rock-strewn floor 

Grew level 'neath his restless feet. 

By sturdy blows he wrought his plan, 
And laid earth's towering bulwarks low; 
A thousand years with ebb and flow, 

He paved a boulevard for man. 




NATURE S BOULEVARD, PACIEIC BEACH. 



Four miles with the sound of the sea in 3'our ears, 
and a prolonged whistle from the motor's throat 
proclaims the fact that La Jolla, "the gem of the 
sea" has been reached. At the station the crowded 
coaches are delivered o'f their passengers, who im- 




UNDER THE PEPPERS, PACIFIC BEACH. 



THE WHITE LADY. 



19 



mediately form groups, and lesser parties, with ex- 
pectant faces turned seaward. 

Of all this constant stream of humanity drifting 
in and out of La Jolla but few have heard of the 
beautiful white lady who stands at the mouth of one 
of the caves. To some she is only an accidental 
formation of nature, but she is a marvel and a mys- 
tery to those who, having known her in life, recog- 
nize an acquaintance in the specter of the caves. 




CATHEDBIAL ROCK, LA JOLLA. 

Nature made La Jolla and man can neither add 
to nor take from the charm of her attractions. The 
pretty sea-side cottages that crown the high-lands, 
overlooking the ocean, with their wide porches and 
variety of architecture are an interesting spectacle, 
but these are not La Jolla. The boom, boom of 
gigantic breakers beating their unconquerable 
strength against the rocks, and dashing the foam of 
their rage hundreds of feet in the air, with the mar- 



20 THE WHITE LADY. 

velous ocean ever surging back of them, hold you 
with a mystic fascination, but these are not La Jolla. 
The merry bathers in the surf, and the little chil- 
dren with their bright dresses making dashes of 
color on shell beach from June to June the year's 
long day, are ever a pleasure and a delight, but they 
are not La Jolla. All these are common to sea-side 
resorts, but the magnificent handiwork of that grand 
old sculptor. Father Pacific, in his peculiar forma- 
tions and ornamentations of the huge rocks which 
Mother Nature has placed convenient for his use : 
Cathedral Rock, the Fisherman's Bridge, Alligator 
Head, and especially the deep, mysterious caves 
from whence its name originated, these are the most 
attractive features of La Jolla. These are La Jolla. 

The murmur of the sea is in your ears, its saline 
fingers cling to your garments, and touch your lips 
with soft caresses. Your practical other self slips 
away from you under the mesmeric influence of this 
dream inviting presence, and wandering on and on 
vou enter the great caves, and become fascinated 
with the novelties of the animal and vegetable life in 
the solitudes of these rock-ribbed caverns. You 
take no heed of the passage of time, or the distance 
over which your eager feet have traveled. 

Here upon a rock is a specimen of sea-weed, pink 
as the heart of a rose, its delicate tracery like finest 
lace-work, yonder is a whole community of squirm- 
ing inhabitants carrying their houses on their backs, 
and conducting their affairs of state after their own 
best approved methods. A step farther and another 
interest attracts your attention, absorbing your 
thoughts with animated speculation. Presently be- 
coming weary of the rock-walled, rock-floored cav- 
ern, you turn your face to its entrance and are star- 
tled by the spectacle that meets your gaze. 

There, in the mouth of the cave, filling its entire 
space, stands a tall, white lady. She is robed in 
shimmering garments of light, wrapped in a misty 




THE CAVES, LA JOLLA. 



THE WHITE LADY. 23 

veil, and on her head is a wreath Hke a coronet of 
oranere blossoms. You see at a glance that she is 
beautiful, and stately as a queen, for though her 
features are not visible ,the outlines of her graceful 
form are perfect in every detail. She stands in an 
expectant attitude, with her face turned to the right 
as if listening. One hand is partly raised, and you 
know instinctively that she is in search of some one. 
Her dress falls in rain-bow tinted folds to her feet, 
and sweeps in a long, billowy train over the uneven 
surface of the rock-strewn entrance. 

You stand breathless with amazement. Hereto- 
fore your philosophv admitted no credence of the 
white lady of La Jolla, but can your eyes deceive 
vou? Behold, she stands before you trailing her 
bridal robes over the slimy stones. She has taken 
possession of the cave with her radiant presence, 
whose only substance is light. You can see the 
foam-flecked waters tossing back of her, and, look- 
ing directly through her discover a row boat drift- 
ing idly with the tide while matters of greater im- 
portance than its guidance occupy the couple whose 
heads lean closer as hearts speak through the win- 
dows of the soul. Presently the boat drifts past, 
and once more the white lady holds solitary pos- 
session of the entrance. As you stand there lost in 
amazement and conjecture, a wave rushes past her, 
submerges her train, and creeping in, touches the 
hem of your dress with damp, chilly fingers. You 
are startled from your surprised discovery with a 
sudden premonition of danger, and hastily seeking 
a place of safety you recall the story of the white 
lady ,as related to you that morning. 

Mrs. Trumbar is one of the many lodging-house 
keepers in San Diego, and although only an ordinary 
woman to all appearances she is, in fact, an una- 
bridged volume of reminiscences connected with the 
old Spanish-American settlement of San Diego, and 



24 THE WHITE LADY. 



adjacent country. Nothing escapes her observation, 
and she never forgets. 

There is much of the supernatural connected with 
the romantic history of San Diego, and it is often 
difficult to discern just where the real event is 
merged in the imaginative. Tradition affirms that 
departed spirits habitually wander about lonely pla- 
ces at all hours after sunset, and startle the belated 
tourist in his search for curious specimens of land 
and sea to add to his collection. Who has not heard 
of the cowled padre of the San Diego mission who, 
on moonlight nights, wanders restlessly up and 
down, over and under the ruined aqueduct beyond 
the mission walls, as if inspecting the work, and as- 
suring himself that his army of Indian laborers are 
performing it satisfactorily? And who has not 
heard of the beautiful Indian maiden searching for 
her recreant lover through the canyons and among 
the tangled growth of Point Loma? Parties camp- 
ing in Mission Valley have seen the old padre, and 
tourists have caught fleeting glimpses of the Indian 
maiden. 

And there are other stories. Mrs. Trumbar can 
tell you all about them, relating each story in detail, 
and giving you minute directions how and when to 
approach the scene of the ghostly wanderings in or- 
der to obtain the best results and be convinced that 
she has not deceived you. 

As you prepare for your day's outing Mrs. Trum- 
bar approaches from the kitchen, wiping the dish- 
water from her brown fingers on her apron (she is 
always washing dishes, it seems to you), and begins : 

"What place do you visit today?" adding, before 
you can reply, "I might suggest-oh, it's La Jolla, is 
it Well, you'll enjoy the day out there, I can tell 
you. Let me see — " whisking the daily paper from 
a pile 6i like literature on the stand in the corner of 
the room, and finding the tide table. Her moist 
forefinger follows down the column and finally halts 



. -J ^' MM 


jB 




^^Br ^Is^ 


^ i) ^P 





THE WHITU LADY. 27 

with a satisfactory pressure, and the anxiety Ufts 
from her face as she announces that you have chosen 
the right day to visit La JoUa, regardless of the fact 
that in planning your trip you have evidently con- 
sulted the tide table for yourself. 

"It is all right," she informs you. "It will be low 
tide at noon. You are just in luck. You can see 
the white lady best at the noon hour." 

"Ever heard of the white lady of the caves?" she 
continues as you fasten a coil of your hair in place, 
and proceed with other details of your toilet. You 
are a little fearful ihat her narrative may crowd up- 
on your time, but the slight negative movement of 
your head is sufficient encouragement. She accord- 
ingly settles herself comfortably in the generous 
rocker that sways her ample figure to and fro as she 
relates the story. 

"Never heard of her? Well, now. I must tell 
you, or you'll miss half the interest of the trip. It's 
like visiting Europe without a guide, or any know- 
ledge of the places you're going to see, to go to La 
Jolla without having heard the story of the beauti- 
ful bride, and-oh, yes, her husband, too, of course. 

"It was long before 'the boom,' before the rail- 
road came, and almost before the world knew that 
there was such a place as San Diego. There were 
only a few families of us living here then, in what 
was San Diego, but is now called Old Town, and we 
used to get what comfort we could out of life in this 
lonesome corner of the world. Some families had 
come over to New Town, but we were not among 
them. 

"One year between Thanksgiving and Christmas 
time a young couple came down in the stage from 
Los Angeles and stopped at my house. All the best 
people stopped at my house in them days, but the 
big hotels have fairly crowded me out since the 
boom. Though, to be sure," with an apprehensive 



28 THE WHITE LADY. 

glance at you, and a quick indrawing of the breath, 
"the best people often stop with me now." 

"These young folks I was speaking about were 
on their wedding trip ; though, dear sakes alive ! it 
must have been a hard one, all the way down from 
Los Angeles in that bumpy old stage. I can't im- 
agine what ever induced them to come a traipsin' 
away down here to the end of the earth, unless it 
was to get away from everybody, and be all by them- 
selves. I can see the bride this minute as she came 
up the walk that day, as tall as any queen, and every 
bit as handsome, too. Her eyes were as blue as the 
gentian flowers I used to gather when I was a little 
girl, and somehow I always thought of them when- 
ever I looked at her. And her dresses ! Why, a 
queen might well have envied them, they were that 
fine. I remember of telling Maria (Maria was my 
sister, and lived with me then, but she has died 
since, poor dear) ; I remember well of telling her 
that I thought it a burning shame to waste all of 
them pretty dresses in an out-of-the-way corner 
like this. But I don't imagine she had them made 
specially for San Diego, and being a bride she had 
to have them anyhow. 

"Yes, I know you'll have to be off pretty soon, so 
I'll hasten with the story. The bride — their name 
was Hathaway, to match their fine clothes, but I 
always called her 'the bride' — she wanted to visit 
every lonely place she could hear of, and couldn't 
hardly content herself to rest up from that tiresome 
trip down from Los Angeles. I fixed up my best 
bedroom for them, and laid myself out to make her 
feel at home. I flatter meself that I succeeded, too, 
for the morning they started for La Jolla she was 
as chipper as a bird, the poor dear. 

"Air. Hathaway engaged Trumbar to drive 
them to La Jolla, and I put up a lunch for them good 
enough to make a king's mouth water, if I do say it. 



THE WHITE LADY. 31 

There was cold turkey left over from Sunday's din- 
ner, and pickle-lily, and pound cake, and olives 
raised on a tree of our own, and mince pie in a tin 
can to keep it from mussin', and — I can't bepfin to 
remember half of the good things I put in that bas- 
ket, but there wasn't a bite of it eaten by any one, 
for they, poor souls, never came back agnin. and 
Trumbar was that frightened and worried tint he 
never even opened the basket, or thoi^ght of enting." 

A moment of impressive silence, and Mrs. Trum- 
■ bar restmies : 

"It was pitch dark before Trimibir got home tint 
night, and T was nearly beside myself with anvictv, 
but the minute I set eyes on him T knew tint some 
terrible thing had happened, for he looked like an 
old man, and shook as if he had an ngi^e chill ill the 
while he was telling me about it. He said tint as 
soon as they reached La Jolla the young co^-ple went 
ofT hunting for shells and sea things along the beach, 
and finally wandered off in the direction of the caves. 
After he had unhitched and fed the horses he found 
a comfortable place, and smoked for a while, then 
feeling drowsy, stretched out in the sunshine and 
took a nap. He said he must have slept a long time 
for when he awakened he was sort of numb all over. 
He had hardly whipped the feeling back into his 
fingers when he heard a cry of terror coming from 
the direction of the caves, and he knew in a minute 
that it was the bride calling to her husband. He ran 
to the place where he could see the caves, and there, 
away at almost at the fartherest one stood Mrs. 
Hathaway at the entrance. He saw that the tide had 
turned and was running in so strong that a wave 
splashed over her feet, and seemed to catch at her 
with its awful white fingers. She was so timid about 
venturing near the water that he knew something 
had happened to whip up her courage to that extent, 
for the roaring of the sea behind her, and the dark- 
ness of the caves must have appalled her. Probably 



32 THE WHITE LADY. 



Mr. Hathaway had left her with the story book she 
had brought with her, while he went inside, and be- 
came so intent on what he was finding that he hadn't 
noticed the tide was rising. It was rolHng in pretty 
strong before she discovered it, and becoming 
fr/ghtened at lier husband's long stay, had gone in 
search of him. 

"Trumbar tried to get to her, but he was a long 
distance away with a lot of climbing to do getting 
down to her. When he came to the blufif overlook- 
ing the caves, he called to her to come back at once,, 
for he could see that a monstrous wave was coming, 
but it was useless, as he knew, for no sound of his 
voice could reach her through all that distance She 
began flinging her arms about and wringing her 
hands, and just at that moment a big wave rushed 
in with an awful sound, and" — with a hush in her 
voice, and a spasmodic catch in her breath, "and 
that was all. Trumbar never saw either of them 
after that, though he waited about, calling and 
watching, hoping to see their bodies, if nothing 
more. 

"It was almost night before he started for home, 
and by that time the caves were full of water, and 
he knew there was no use waiting any longer. 

"The next day Trumbar and two of our neigh- 
bors drove to La Jolla, though they knew before 
they started that it was useless, and that they would 
never see the young couple again, unless the waves 
washed their bodies ashore. They spent the whole 
day searching the caves and the rocks, but they 
found no trace of them, not even so much as the 
book j\Trs. Hathaway had left on the rocks when 
she went in search of her husband, for the tide had 
been uncommon high during the night, and had 
washed even that away. 

"When the searchers came home that night we 
knew that we must try to find the friends of the 
young couple, and in looking over their belongings 



> 

o 

> 

o 

K 
w 
> 
p 

> 
o 
> 




THE WHITE LADY. 35 

we found the address of her folks. We wrote to 
them at once, tellinf^ them of the dreadful thint; that 
had happened to their daughter and her husband. 
After a few weeks (it took a long time in tiicm days 
to make the tri]5) her brother came on, and nothing 
would do but he must go to the place where his sis- 
ter had lost her life. So one day Trunibar and I 
drove him over to La Jolla. 

"I put up a good lunch for I knew we would need 
considerable sustaining during the ordeal that was 
before us, to say nothing of the long, tiresome ride 
through the sage brush. The minute we got to La 
Jolla the young man (Ross Willard was his name, 
and he was tall and handsome like his sister) was 
for going right on to the cave where Trumbar had 
last seen her. The nearest way was down an almost 
perpendicular gully of loose shale, and the most we 
could do was to slide from top to bottom. Ross 
Willard went ahead, and as we was a-slipping and 
a-sliding down that awful place I could not help 
thinking how like a funeral procession it was, with 
this young man who had come so many miles to 
visit the only grave his poor sister would probably 
ever have, and we two, who had learned to like the 
young couple so much in the little while we had 
known them, following along behind. I was pretty 
tired when we got to the bottom, for there wasn't 
any steps to make it easy for one in them days as 
there is now, and if I'd been as heavy as I am now I 
never could have got down in the world. When we 
reached the bottom I would like to have rested a bit 
and got my breath, but Ross Willard rushed ahead, 
and we followed as fast as we could. 

"He hurried into the cave as though he expected 
to find his sister there. He disappeared into the one 
v/here Trumbar had last seen her, and as he turned 
to speak to us a look came into his face that I'll 
never forget if I live a hundred years. We were 
following him, and our backs were to the light, but 



36 THS WHITE LADY. 



his face was toward the opening, and as he turned 
it suddenly went white, and he cried out : 

" 'Mv sister! Look there! It is Bertha in her 
wedding dress !' 

"We turned, and there she stood in the mouth of 
the cave, on the very spot where death had found 
her. She didn't have on the traveHng dress she 
wore that day, but was dressed in her wedding 
gown. We could see the orange wreath in her hair, 
and her long train spread out over the stones. It 
was as if the whole entrance had formed her shape. 
It wasn't just the outlines of a woman. It 
was Mrs. Hathaway. You come to know a wo- 
man as much by her form as by her face, and Mrs. 
Hathaway was rather uncommon in her build. She 
was taller and more graceful than most women, car- 
rying her head erect with a dignity that would have 
seemed haughty if it had not been for the sweet 
graciousness of her manner. 

"When I saw her, standing there like life, I was 
that frightened you could have knocked me down 
with a feather, but all Ross Willard seemed to think 
of was to get to her at once. He pushed Trumbar 
aside and started for the place where she was stand- 
ing. We turned and followed, but all at once she 
disappeared, and the opening was just like any 
other. 

Mrs. Trumbar's voice is hushed. The clock ticks 
loudly on the mantel. The piping voice of a mock- 
ing-bird drifts in through the open window. Little 
awesome chills creep up your back, and you find 
that in spite of your philosophy the story you have 
mentally designated as a pretty invention has 
strangely impressed you. 

"We are quite sure," Mrs .Trumbar continues af- 
ter a momentary pause, during which her fingers 
have pulled nervously at a broken splint in the chair, 
"that the one place where the bride is visible is the 
spot where her young husband stood when he heard 



THE WHITE LADY. 37 

her voice calling to him, and looking up discovered 
her with the great wave rolling in at her back, on 
that fatal day. It may be that the ocean repents the 
destruction of those two young lives, and has chis- 
eled her form from the edges of the rocks, and set it 
in the entrance of the cave as a warning to others, 
but I will never admit that the likeness is just acci- 
dental. It is too perfect." 



38 LA JOLIvA. 



I^A JOLLA 



The land's-end here, of rrgged mould, 
Fronts grim and grand the tossing sea, 

Its rock-strewn ledges, fold on fold, 
Withstand the water's battery. 

The civerns where the waves make moan 

Arc spiked with columns carved from stone. 

'I hose caves, dirk-morthed, mysterious, 
Ing- If the eddying, swirling tide. 

And I'-c^t their prey delirious, 

With dash and lash from side to side 

1 hro- gh corridor and vaulted dome, 

Tl n hrrl it forth in froth and foam. 

Behold this rock's storm-chiseled face: 
His giant arms that seaward reach 

To bar its progress. See the grace 
Of yonder crescent-curving beach 

Where bathers sport and children play, 

From noon to noon the year's long day. 



SUNSET. 



39 




SUNSiiT AT LA J OLLA. 

SUNSET 



From his high throne the mighty ruler of the days, 
Bends down and downward to the fond embrace 

Of ocean's arms. Upon her bosom lays 
The glory of his bright, enraptured face, 

And flushes all her being with his gaze. 



FEBRUARY. 41 



FE.BRUARY ON THE LA JOLLA 
HILLS 



Did yon hear them stirring before thev came? 

As they whispered low together, 
Deep in their mother's warm, brown breast, 

All throrgh the rainy weather. 

Did yon hear their laughter, the pretty things? 

As they talked their secret over, 
And buzzed like a swarm of honey-bees, 

Turned loose in a field of clover. 

And then they revealed it, the glad surprise 

Of these little merry makers. 
And spread a carpet of rain-bow dyes 

Down over a thousand acres. 

The carpet is yellow and blue and pink, 

Woven in many a pattern. 

There are squares, and diamonds and circling 

[belts, 
Like the yellow belts of Saturn. 

There are fields of gold — whole poppy fields — 

Oh, the land is color crazy; 
Purple and yellow and lavender, 

Under the warm sky hazy. 

Dashes of color, and shouts of glee, 

All in the winter weather. 
For the flowers of earth and the human flowers 

Are out on the hills together. 



42 TOURISTS. 



TOURISTS 



They stood by the west sea while sunset 

Made ready its winter surprise. 
"Was there ever such bkie?" she murmured, 

"Such wonderful blue ,as these skies?" 
"Such blue," he replied, "No, never, 

" 'Tis the gateway to Paradise, 
Through radiant blue, to the heart of you." 

And he smiled in her lifted eyes. 

"Oh, the charm of the southwest winter! 

There is naught on earth to compare 
With this cloth of gold on the sea unrolled ; 

This dust of gold, in the air." 
"The gold," and his voice grew tender, 

"There was never such gold, I swear ; 
Such marvelous gold, on my heart unrolled." 

And he touched his lips to her hair. 

"See yon crimson path leading upward 

To the portal of Heaven, I wis. 
Was ever a red so rare?" she said, 

"Was ever a red like this?" 
"Oh, red of the heart's deep fountain! 

Oh, rapturous altar of bliss ! 
There is no such red in the world," he said. 

As he laid on her lips a kiss. 




SUNSET, LA JOLLA. 



LofC. 



THE POPPY. 45 



THE CALIFORNIA POPPY 



Flower of the west-land with calyx of gold, 
Swung in the breeze over lace-woven sod ; 
Killed to the brim with the glory of God, 

All that its wax-petaled chalice can hold. 

This was the birth of it : On the brown plain, 

The sun dropped a kiss in the footprint of rain. 

A PROPHECY 



The day is near when many a barren place 

Will 'wake from its long centuries of rest, 
And lift to heaven the fruitage of its face ; 
Flowers will unfold where dwells the land's disgrace, 
Within our golden west. 



^ 



i 



DtC 



29 1904 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



017 135 050 5 



